


Major MacPherson's Ass

by MarnaNightingale, Skud



Series: All the King's Men [2]
Category: Hornblower
Genre: Historical, M/M, Military, PWP, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-08
Updated: 2004-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarnaNightingale/pseuds/MarnaNightingale, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skud/pseuds/Skud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, 1792.  A young Lieutenant Edrington meets Captain Pellew at his club for dinner -- and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Major MacPherson's Ass

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a demonstration of how badly I fail when I try to write PWP.
> 
> Warning for those who want it: this fic contains sexual activity between adults who have a significant difference in age and experience (19/35).

_London, October 1792_

"I see fortune favours you again, Captain."

"Lieutenant Edrington." Captain Edward Pellew turned in his seat, then stood and nodded a greeting to the young man who stood before him in the striped braid of the 52nd. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

Edrington returned his bow. "All mine, I assure you." Only the faintest flicker of eyebrow and slight curl at the corner of his mouth warmed his flawlessly formal manner, but to anyone who knew him well -- and Captain Pellew believed he knew him as much as a man could -- the expression both betrayed a deep affection and presaged some mischief brewing. Pellew suppressed his own smile and spoke in a carefully bland tone.

"Will you join us for a rubber? Or are you only passing through again, on your way to kick up another of your larks? Do you know, gentlemen --" Pellew had been playing with two other naval captains and a cavalry officer -- "this young hellion was seen last Tuesday riding a donkey backwards through Hyde Park."

Edrington grinned. "A prime bit of blood, sir! One of Major MacPherson's ass's brood, excellent bloodlines."

"Major who?" Pellew's question was echoed by the questioning looks from his companions.

"What," said Edrington, "did you never hear that story?" Pellew looked at him sharply, and Edrington grinned as he continued, his voice pitched to entertain the whole table, who were listening good-naturedly.

"Major MacPherson of the Light Dragoons -- he went missing after Coimbatore. Everyone presumed he had been taken by the Tipu Sultan -- he took a great many hostages, you know. In any case, MacPherson showed up three days later, when everyone had quite given him up, rather battered, and riding a donkey. His mess were vastly amused -- MacPherson is usually so particular about his mounts -- and declared that his donkey wasn't worth five pounds, and if it was, they would give him ten.

"A couple of weeks later, when Cornwallis marched on a fort just south of Seringapatnam. MacPherson led the charge on his donkey, and it was shot out from under him. He claimed the thirty-five pounds allowed to an officer who loses his mount in battle, and the ten from his mess besides. And my donkey," he concluded with a flourish, "is that very valuable beast's get... or so said the man who sold it to me."

Pellew snorted, keeping his face stern with some effort now. "And, ah -- backwards?" Edrington flushed and looked away as Pellew's companions laughed, and Pellew took mercy on him at last and allowed his previously stern visage to crack into a small smile. "No doubt you are off to Newmarket this afternoon to enter your extraordinary mount in the races?"

Edrington rallied. "No indeed, sir. Actually -- I came to invite you to dine with me."

"Did you?" Pellew raised his own eyebrow, pleased.

"Only... since I haven't sixpence to scratch with right now, perhaps you had better invite me to dine with you instead."

* * *

"It is beyond me, Alexander," said Pellew, raising a morsel of chicken on his fork and regarding the boy steadily over it, "how you manage so regularly to run through your allowance by half way to quarter day."

Edrington shifted in his chair, recognising Pellew's remark as the prelude to a lecture. "Don't you start, Edward," he said, "You know it doesn't go as far as it might." Pellew's lectures lately had veered uncomfortably close to the sermons he expected from his brother when ever he had occasion to apply to him for funds. _And I'll be damned if I'll sit still for a dressing down from _you_, when I came here for--_

Pellew harrumphed, shaking his head. "Not at the rate you drink it, and worse, and fritter the rest away on... _prime bits of blood_, was it? If you were one of my mids you shouldn't have such opportunities to waste your money."

"If I were one of _your_ mids..." Edrington caught his lip between his teeth and dipped his head, looking up at Pellew from under his lashes, looking for an answering glint in Pellew's eyes.

"You'd run a good deal less wild than you do now, I assure you."

"And you'd like me a good deal less, I fancy." Edrington gave what he hoped was an endearing grin. _Besides,_ he thought, _I could tell you a story or two about your mids on leave, my dear Edward, that would curl your hair._

Pellew rolled his eyes. "If you were one of my mids, I should forever be mast-heading you for insubordination, sir."

"_Please?_" There, the glint.

"You have no idea what that means, do you, scamp?" The flicker of amusement was on the brink of bursting into full flame now, and Edrington answered cheekily.

"Not in the least."

"I assure you it is infinitely less pleasant than you might imagine." There, the flame was doused again, and Pellew had retreated to severity.

Edrington sat back, quelled, and returned his attention to his rapidly-emptying plate. He speared a piece of chicken with his fork and raised it rather sullenly to his lips. "You are determined to spoil all my fun, I see." He debated the probable effects of a pout. Discarding the notion as too obvious, he favoured Pellew with a wide-eyed look as he swallowed hastily and said, "And here I was _quite_ persuaded that a life in His Majesty's Navy must offer endless opportunities for a young man to find himself bent over something."

Pellew's mouth twitched, but he answered drily, "I am quite certain you would contrive under any conditions whatsoever to ensure that life would offer you _that_, Alexander." He paused, staring at his food for a moment, and changed the subject. "I hear Robespierre has arrested King Louis on his way to Varennes. There will be war soon."

"Will there?" Edrington shifted in his seat. "Edward..."

"And our own King was last seen bathing at Weymouth. However, as long as his health holds..."

"_Edward_..." He shifted again, leaning back in his chair.

Pellew frowned. "You show remarkably little interest in affairs of state for an officer of His Majesty's forces, sir."

_Rather more than you think, my dear Edward. The mess is no less alive with speculation than the wardroom. But I _am_ at liberty now, and so are you, and I most particularly do _not_ wish to consider the question of war at this precise moment_. Edrington placed his cutlery deliberately on his plate, laying his napkin beside it, and rose to circle the table and stand behind Pellew's chair.

"I fear I have but little interest, sir," -- a kiss, placed with exquisite calculation, just behind Pellew's left ear -- "in any matter" -- another, on his jaw -- "outside this room, at the present moment." -- a light nip to his throat -- "Though if you wish to demonstrate strategies for the taking of heavily-fortified positions..."

Pellew sighed, half-amused, half-irked at Edrington's blithe contempt for the topic of war. _So frivolous, still?_ He let the matter go -- _He will think of it seriously soon enough, if he will or no_, and let himself be distracted by the rough slide of Edrington's lips and tongue until he broke away suddenly.

"Alexander?" He turned to see Edrington stripping away his coat; he dropped it casually behind him and began to unbutton his breeches. Pellew rolled his eyes -- shameless boy -- even as he admired the grace Edrington brought to even such a careless undressing, watching intently as the last button came free and his breeches dropped to the floor to reveal impossibly long, smoothly-muscled legs dusted with golden hairs.

Pellew felt his prick grow heavy against the placket of his own breeches. He stood and walked to the door, twisting the key with an audible "click", and turned back to face Edrington, who stood in nothing but his shirt, neckcloth hanging from one hand, the smirk of anticipation on his face quite as provoking as the golden form beneath it.

He recrossed the room, taking satisfaction in keeping his pace measured, his face blandly amused, pleased that the hand that reached out to pull the neckcloth from between Edrington's fingers was steady. He had it set neatly on the table and Edrington's shoulders beneath his hands in the next moment, feeling the smooth curve of muscles under the cloth of his shirt; he pulled Edrington hard against him, invading his mouth, running his tongue wetly over Edrington's and across the roof of his mouth until he felt a familiar tremble begin under his hands. With a small satisfied smile, he slid his hands down Edrington's back to brush them over the tight curve of his buttocks and slip them under his shirt; he began to work the fabric up over Edrington's hips, only to feel long fingers close on his wrists as Edrington stepped back, a trifle unsteadily, shaking his head, He urged Pellew back towards his chair, warm breath and silky hair against his throat as Edrington leaned in to say, "Wait -- let me -- you'll like this, I warrant."

Pellew protested faintly, but Edrington's murmurs of "Please, Edward," and his hands on Pellew's coat-buttons -- unfastening them, pushing the coat off his shoulders, to be joined by his waistcoat -- convinced him to settle into his chair, waiting. Edrington pressed a final kiss against his throat while untying Pellew's neckcloth, then sank to his knees between Pellew's thighs. He paused, then, watching Pellew through his lashes as he trailed his fingers to the buttons of Pellew's breeches, then away again, smiling almost demurely as he leaned ever closer, until his teeth fastened on a button and he began to work it loose. His lips rasped against the dry wool as he tongued it free and moved to the next, glancing up to see Pellew watching intently -- and, yes, the hint of amusement was there once more -- but his hands were clenched to whitened fists against Edrington's shoulders. Edrington smiled slightly and dropped his eyes to the task at hand.

Patience now, and he would need none later, that was certain -- too great a show of eagerness on his part, he had found, left Pellew amused more than inflamed, inclined to play and linger, enjoying his protests, and that was not a position he cared to be in just now, not when his prick had positively dragged him across town and dropped him in Pellew's lap already. This, though -- he shuddered slightly, anticipating the thorough shafting he wanted and would doubtless get, if he could keep this game going only a fraction longer.

When the last button was freed he pulled away, rocking back onto his heels, legs spread wantonly and his shirt rucked up at his waist; more wanton yet as he grasped the hem and began to inch it higher, keeping his eyes down that Pellew might not see the calculation in them, making as much show as he could, until he pulled it off at last and let it drop to the floor, stretching languidly as he glanced up to gauge the effect he had achieved. He noted the stuttering breath and avid eyes with satisfaction.

"Get on with it." The harsh tone was as good as a promise; Edrington ducked his head to hide his smile.

Impatient, Pellew hooked his fingers beneath the waist of his breeches, stripping them down with a twist of his hips before Edrington could draw the matter out any further. Edrington returned to crouch between his knees, and Pellew inhaled sharply as Edrington brushed his lips over the planes of Pellew's thigh as if by accident. Even in so ungainly a position, he was beautiful, and if he chose now to play at humility, it was as near as he ever came to it. Proud as Lucifer, and as perilously lovely, pale as a Roman statue and near as finely made. The candlelight burnished the gold of his hair, and the smooth muscle of his back flowed beneath his skin as he teased and soothed Pellew with his breath and his lips.

Edrington placed a warm kiss on Pellew's thigh and looked up at him, his eyes large and dark. Pellew's breath caught in his throat. _Good God, does he know -- does he realise what effect he has?_ Even at seventeen Edrington had been a force of nature, and Pellew no more able to resist him than to sail into the eye of the wind; two years of service and the attainment of his commission had begun to show him the measure of his powers, and he was magnificent. _Of course he knows,_ Pellew thought with a gasp as Edrington bent again to his thigh, this time higher up, still watching him out of the corner of his eye. _I only hope his commanding officer has a will of steel._

The corners of Pellew's mouth quirked upward at the thought, and he saw Edrington smile in response, then follow it with a flicker of tongue against his lower lip. A flicker, followed by a slow, deliberate, wet swipe and a meaningful lift of his eyebrow. _Oh, too, too, shameless!_ "Get up here," he said, laughing, drawing a rueful sweet chuckle in return as he grasped Edrington by the arms and drew him up onto his lap.

_What was I at nineteen? A green midshipman with his first command, a little boat on an almost-frozen lake._ Less self-assured than Edrington; less well-favoured, certainly, sallow and serious, and without the knack of making friends. What might he have done on those long winter nights, if he had had a few mates and a pocketful of prize money? _I dare say I might have ridden a donkey backwards, myself._

* * *

Edrington twisted half-free of the arms that encircled him to stretch towards the table and reach the butter; as the tips of his fingers met the edge of the dish, Pellew grasped his nearer wrist and, tugging, reeled him back as efficiently as he might land a trout, keeping the offending hand captive.

"Alexander! Don't --" Pellew's voice was rough, and he paused to catch his breath, while Edrington looked an enquiry at him. "Pray do _not_ put your fingers in the butter!"

Edrington opened his mouth to laugh or protest, but Pellew only gripped his wrists more tightly. A contrary urge made Edrington pull away to better feel the press of Pellew's fingertips in his flesh; Pellew made a noise that might have been a soft bark of amusement, traced his thumbnails along the veins that showed through Edrington's pale skin, smiling to see Edrington shiver minutely. He squeezed Edrington's wrists once more for emphasis as he said, "There are limits, my dear boy, beyond which even you may not stretch the bounds of propriety. Use a knife."

Edrington's eyes, languid and dark with arousal, shot open, his astonishment only half-feigned.

"On the butter, brat." Pellew gave his wrists a last squeeze then let him go, watching avidly as he stretched back again to reach across the table. Edrington sighed, pouted, and cut a portion of butter from the block on the dish.

Pellew regarded the pat of butter melting on Edrington's fingertips. "You are very keen."

"Invariably, sir." Edrington's reply was accompanied by a lewd wriggle.

"Patience is a virtue."

Edrington rocked against Pellew, letting Pellew's prick brush against the insides of his thighs and higher in what he hoped was an unmistakable hint. He laughed softly. "Not one I may boast of, I fear!"

"I believe --" Pellew's voice was a little ragged, Edrington noted with satisfaction, and his hands tightened on Edrington's hips, but _God_, he was holding him steady, still slowing him -- _What does he want, an engraved invitation delivered by a footman in livery?_ \-- as he continued, -- "it is highly regarded by the population at large."

"But not by me, Edward." Edrington's tone was shamefully near a whine as he struggled slightly against Pellew's steady grip. "Will you _please_?"

Pellew only regarded him with the thinnest of smiles, and Edrington bit his lip and strove to govern himself until he could return his gaze almost cooly, waiting, pointedly not looking at the trickle of melting butter running down over his palm until Pellew's gaze was drawn to his hand. Edrington followed the movement of Pellew's eyes, and began to rub the softened pat of butter between his thumb and fingers, squashing it into a slippery mess.

Pellew swallowed, and Edrington suppressed a grin. _Self-sufficiency is a virtue too, dear Edward._ Edrington brushed a buttery finger across Pellew's lower lip, then followed it with his tongue, before murmuring, "Never mind, Edward. If you will not oblige me, I can attend to the matter myself."

Pellew's eyes widened as Edrington rose up in his place and reached behind his body, his hand disappearing even as his hips tilted back, his expression one of rapt concentration.

"God... Alexander --" Pellew groaned, his self-restraint slipping, and reached for a second pat of butter from the table. Edrington's mouth curled into a slow grin, his eyes sparkling as Pellew applied the butter, shifting his weight forward in anticipation.

_No,_ Pellew thought, confusedly, _Don't --_ His arm wrapped around Edrington's back, then drew Edrington's hand away from his arse and pulled him close. _Not this headlong -- not like this. I need --_ Pellew's hand trailed up Edrington's back to wrap around his queue, knuckles brushing softly against the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging gently until Edrington's chin lifted to expose his throat; Pellew pressed his mouth against it, tracing the line of muscle to the collarbone, where he pressed his lips, hot and reverent, willing Edrington to understand.

When he drew away, Edrington's mouth was slack and loose and the calculation in his face had given way at last to unfeigned desire. Pellew's breath stuttered in his throat as he stared. _So beautiful._ "Yes, Alexander," he breathed, and loosed his grasp as he kissed him, guiding rather than resisting now as Edrington lowered himself slowly onto him. Pellew held his breath until at last he was buried inside Edrington's body, then let it forth in a low groan.

Edrington was breathing hard, tiny panting gasps as he sat motionless, lower lip caught between his teeth. His eyelashes lifted from his cheeks for a moment, as he looked a question; what he found in Pellew's eyes made him begin to move, rocking slightly at first, his teeth making the least indentation in his lower lip as his motion intensified, his mouth falling open as Pellew rose to meet him.

* * *

_God -- Edward --_ The familiar shock of his arse being filled, stretched -- the inexorable push of Pellew's prick and the heat of his hands on Edrington's haunches -- and _dear God_, the look on his face, desire and affection, yes, but also longing and sadness and -- resignation.

So much -- so much more than -- than anything he had expected, had ever wanted -- so much more than he knew how to meet. He had come as he had a score of times before, prick twitching and leaking in his breeches, tongue practically hanging out of his head like a thirsty cur's, seeking only to be soundly fucked, well fed, and sent on his way. He hadn't wagered on _this_.

_You -- are you even the same man -- my dear, stern, teasing Edward?_ He sought for an answer in his eyes, and yes -- all still there, however entangled with anger and melancholy and -- fear? Edrington blinked. But yes, behind it all -- _My dear Edward_.

Edrington began to move against him, the slide of flesh as familiar and instinctive -- and as oddly comforting -- as a practiced drill, and _this_ was why he'd come here, why he'd found himself skating the edge of indiscretion in the cardroom of Pellew's club instead of betaking himself to the dozens of other beds -- the dozens of cunts and arses and hands and mouths -- that might be pleased to welcome him any time he arched his eyebrow or jangled his purse.

Slowly, slowly -- Pellew held him, and _dear God_, what had Edrington been thinking to try and rush him, to tease and provoke him so mercilessly? _Christ, is this what he meant by patience?_ \-- the steady rise and fall of their bodies, the slow burn in his thighs from minding his balance and his pace, the wet heat of Pellew's mouth on his chest, his shoulder, his neck, and above it all the sweet, sliding pressure inside him.

But Pellew's hands were on him, petting him, taming him -- how had he forgotten the strength of him and the warm scent -- it was generally worth letting Edward have his way in the end, but _damn him_, he wanted something somehow harsher than this languorous fucking and he set out to get it, twisting closer to Pellew, moaning into his mouth, entreating until -- there -- Pellew surged against him and _Christ, Edward!_ \-- rapid strokes driving him like a panicked colt, stealing his breath -- he dug shaking hands into Pellew's back, clinging like an ape, sucking and biting at his tongue -- wrenched his mouth free in a great shuddering gasp and Pellew was speaking from a long way away, broken endearments between kisses pressed to his throat, to his chest, and he felt himself lifted, pressed back -- he struggled briefly, almost upsetting them -- until he was sprawled over Pellew's arm, mouth working desperately -- _clever, merciless bastard -- damned sailors, he can toss me like a doll still_ \-- against the gentle hand covering his mouth, muffling his cry of protest as Pellew worked him back and forth and he could only clench onto Pellew's legs for balance and squirm in dismay and delight as cool air washed over his prick and his feet scrabbled for purchase and found none, none that he could use to good effect, and his head spun as Pellew's voice washed over him like rumpled silk, endearments and -- _damn him!_ \-- sweet, filthy compliments and -- _blast and confound the man!_ \-- that dreaded, damned, _vile_ word _patience_ over and over.

* * *

Pellew surveyed his prize with satisfaction; Edrington, for all his protests, draped trusting and almost quiescent on his arm, sweat-sheened and squirming, head thrown back in abandon, letting Pellew do as he would with him.

It was always thus and never once the same, the tug and the tension between them; it had been like this, Pellew thought, ever since an insouciant imp of a lordling had hurled himself -- in fact as well as intent -- into his arms three years ago. Edrington gulping down life as if he saw a great river of it in front of him, with Pellew forever tugging at his arm, it seemed, urging him to taste, to savour, to appreciate what already lay before him; well, Pellew had every intention of taking his own advice in _that_ regard, at least, of taking all he was offered and wringing every scrap of pleasure that might be gotten from it.

And what lay before him -- his breath caught as he thrust within Edrington and watched his lips part, heard his high moan -- he was so beautiful. So golden. Unmarked -- _for how long?_ He pushed that thought away and returned to his inspection, storing away images to bring out in some colder hour, attending to the feel of firm skin under his hands, the play of light over muscle, the abandoned expression as Edrington's head lolled heedlessly back with every smooth push, the breathy cries as he withdrew, until Edrington wrenched himself suddenly forward to fetch up against Pellew's chest, panting, clutching with hands and legs as he writhed, sudden desperation in his cries. Pellew held him close, sliding a hand down between them to cover Edrington's prick, working at him teasingly until Edrington's mouth slid sloppily over the skin of his shoulder, his teeth catching and gnawing aimlessly, his breath stuttered. A fiercer grip and his spine arched; Pellew covered Edrington's mouth with his own scarcely in time to catch the urgent cry as he spilled over Pellew's fist.

Edrington sprawled loosely over him, limp and suddenly heavy with satisfaction, and Pellew held him close to keep him from tumbling to the floor in his lassitude, but kept moving strongly, almost pushing himself from the chair, making Edrington whimper high and plaintive and scrabble shaking fingers against his sides -- _he never will learn, he must always rush -- whether I indulge him or no, he is forever left lamenting_ \-- he smiled at Edrington's inarticulate complaints -- not at all to the purpose of discouragement, those squirmings and soft cries -- remembered Edrington's ploys earlier and checked himself -- no need for haste now when he had him -- he grinned -- by the hip indeed and quite at his mercy.

* * *

There was no almost no bearing this, and no ending it; Edrington held on as best he might, shuddering, cursing his damned impatience. So bloody _helpless_, and so -- _Christ!_ He heard himself making little pleading sounds, and shivered again as Pellew only chuckled and scattered kisses over his jaw and face as he worked towards his own pleasure, sure and steady and so damnably patient.

Ah, _there_ \-- at last he felt Pellew's arms tighten on him, and even as the new ferocity in his hold and his thrusting sent fresh fire racing over already too-inflamed senses, wrenched another flurry of small protests from him, he welcomed it, tried to meet it with limbs still mutinously defying his lawful orders, squirmed as best he could against the rapid, ragged thrusts and dragged his lips back to Pellew's to offer his mouth for Pellew to shudder and groan against in his release.

* * *

"Alexander..."

"Yes, Edward?" His tongue curled lazily along the edge of Pellew's ear.

"I cannot feel my legs."

"Oh." Edrington disentangled himself awkwardly, unwrapping his arms from around Pellew's shoulders and placing his feet on the floor.

He reached for a napkin and cleaned himself before sinking to the floor beside the chair and giving the same attention to Pellew.

"I suppose I am rather too large to sit in your lap," he murmured as Pellew stroked his hair.

"My darling boy... my dear, golden angel..." Edrington looked up, to see Pellew blinking rapidly. He averted his gaze quickly, and ran his hand along Pellew's thigh.

"Edward..."

He spoke softly, his lips grazing Pellew's leg, and would have tried to voice some kind of apology had Pellew not interrupted him. "Rather too far grown to be riding an ass backwards through Hyde Park, as well, I should think."

Edrington lifted his face again, and smiled fondly. "I would not have thought you were in a position to take issue with the quality of my mounts, sir."

"A hit, a palpable hit, rogue." Pellew pulled himself upright in his chair, tucking a loose curl into place behind Edrington's ear. "Now, sir, a little less of your nonsense and a little more clothing, before someone tries the door."

They pulled on their uniforms, brushing at them to smooth out the creases from the floor. "When do you sail?" Edrington asked as he slid into his waistcoat.

"Next week, I believe. We are awaiting orders."

Edrington nodded, tying his neckcloth, untying it, and tying it again. He turned to Pellew. "Is this straight?"

"Let me." Edrington held his chin up, while Pellew picked at the knot and pulled it straight. _He is as tall as I am._

"Edward." Pellew looked up from the neckcloth to Edrington's face. "Take me to Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow night?" The imploring expression was familiar. The face that carried it -- was suddenly strange, the strength of the jaw as disconcerting as the note of wistfulness in the request. _He plays the boy, now, as much as I play the stern elder for him, and even in play --_

"Yes." One last time. _And it must be the last. He tarries for me, and I have let it go on too long already._

He forced a smile. "Fireworks, and sliced ham at the pavilion."

Edrington's hand was warm on his back. "And arrack punch?"

"And arrack punch. Of course."


End file.
